


Him, Then Me

by Pseudonymoose



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Exasperated Obi-Wan Kenobi, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudonymoose/pseuds/Pseudonymoose
Summary: In which Anakin breaks something important, and Obi-Wan just wants some sleep.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 155





	Him, Then Me

**Author's Note:**

> It... has been a while. Hope someone likes this, I needed to write it.

“Anakin, _must_ you keep doing that?”

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan. He lay face-up on the bunk, clothing rumpled, right arm across his eyes. Anakin had thought he was asleep.

“Doing what?”

Obi-Wan didn’t reply. Anakin turned back to the work bench.

“ _That_ ,” Obi-Wan groaned.

“What, this?” Anakin tapped metal against metal again.

“Yes, that; you know full well I mean that.”

Anakin abandoned his tools and swivelled his stool around. “Is it bothering you?”

Obi-Wan moved his arm with a wince and rubbed his brow, keeping his eyes closed. “Of course it’s bothering me. It would bother anyone. All that clattering about… You certainly pick your moments.”

Anakin frowned. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.”

Anakin took a long look at his former Master. Their last mission had gone south, as their missions typically did. Nothing they couldn’t handle, but it had been dicey, and they were both nursing minor injuries. Anakin was desperately glad that Ahsoka hadn’t been with them. Becoming pinned and unable to escape the blast radius of an exploding fuel depot was not something he wanted his Padawan to experience. They’d avoided any burns, but both he and Obi-Wan had been thrown back a long way, Obi-Wan into a cliff. No concussions, thankfully, and they’d both walked the two-mile trek back to their shuttle without issue. Still, looking at Obi-Wan now, Anakin was beginning to suspect that he was in worse shape than he’d let on.

No point in making accusations, though Anakin was sorely tempted. He sucked in his cheeks instead and wondered if there was a way to do this more quietly.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Obi-Wan said.

“What, I’m not allowed to think now?” Anakin rolled his eyes. “That’s a little harsh.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Go to bed, Anakin. Whatever contraption you’re tinkering with can keep until morning.”

“ _Go_ to bed, not _come_ to bed?” Concern was swift to replace the faint sting of rejection. He kept his tone light. “You gonna make me sleep alone, old man?”

The fingers of Obi-Wan’s left hand twitched against the mattress, as if he’d wanted to reach out for Anakin, then thought better of it. His chest fell heavily. “Anakin…”

“Spit it out,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan grimaced. “My back hurts,” he admitted.

“You should have said.”

“It wasn’t that bad before.”

“Sure.” Anakin slid forward, only perching on the stool, and leaned across to entwine his flesh fingers with Obi-Wan’s. “And Mace Windu’s going to promote me to Grandmaster next time we’re on Coruscant.”

The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched despite himself. “ _Master_ Windu.” His thumb brushed the back of Anakin’s hand.

Anakin squeezed his fingers. “Hey, if I’m Grandmaster, I can call him whatever I like.”

Obi-Wan laughed, then hissed through his teeth. Anakin waited for him to relax, ignoring his own spasms of pain. Obi-Wan first, then himself.

“Can I help?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan stayed quiet, and Anakin didn’t press him.

Eventually, Obi-Wan blinked slowly at him, eyes barely open. “What do we have for pain?”

Anakin squeezed his hand again, knowing how much it cost Obi-Wan to ask. “Stay put, I’ll find you something. Be right back.”

Reluctantly, Anakin let go and stood. The medical supplies were in the galley, itself little bigger than the two-person cabin Anakin had multi-purposed as a workshop. He crossed the ship, trying not to bang into anything. His left-handed rummage in the locker under the holotable proved successful, and he hurried back, kneeling next to Obi-Wan’s bunk.

Obi-Wan made a soft sound, telling Anakin he knew he was there. Anakin tore the cap off the painkiller with his teeth, and stabbed it into Obi-Wan’s arm, safe in the war-engrained knowledge that it would get through the cloth. Obi-Wan hissed again, and Anakin pulled the empty container away.

“That should do you,” he said, gently tugging Obi-Wan’s hand away from his head to rest on his stomach.

“Sedative?”

“No.” Obi-Wan hated that stuff. Kriff, any Jedi hated that stuff.

Patting Obi-Wan’s hand one last time, Anakin scrambled up from the floor. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Anakin sat back on his stool, but didn’t pick up his tools. He wasn’t cruel. Obi-Wan needed rest; he’d wait until he was asleep, then return to work. Obi-Wan, then himself. That’s how it worked. The muscles in his shoulder ached. He tried resting his elbow on the workbench, his wrist on his knee, but both shot spasms of nerve pain up his arm. He gave up and sank his focus into the force, sending away his pain and sensing for the moment when Obi-Wan sank into a deep sleep.

When it arrived, he opened his eyes. With the end of meditation came the end of his own makeshift pain relief. He swallowed a curse and turned his back to Obi-Wan. The sooner he fixed this, the better they’d both be.

It was trickier than he’d realised, the damage worse than he’d feared. After a thorough analysis, he was resigned. It was going to be invasive.

Later, squinting, trying to keep the soldering iron in his left hand steady, Anakin received a rude reminder that he was meant to be keeping quiet.

“ _Anakin_.”

Anakin managed not to drop the soldering iron, but almost bit through the tip of his tongue. He turned off the heat and looked over his left shoulder.

Obi-Wan was very much awake, blinking blearily and propped up on one elbow. Anakin’s first instinct was to be pleased that the painkillers were doing their job.

“Anakin, for the love of… _anything_ ,” Obi-Wan said. “Leave it alone.”

“I—”

“Please, Anakin.”

Anakin turned away from Obi-Wan’s exhausted, pleading face. “I’m sorry, Master,” he said, dropping back into old habits. “I’ll try to be quieter. Or… I could try and work in the cockpit?” The noise would probably still travel through from the galley; the connecting wall was flimsy.

“In the—” Obi-Wan broke off. “Anakin, for goodness’ sake. Is the ship falling apart?”

“No.”

Obi-Wan carried on. “Are we in imminent danger of death, unless you finish whatever it is you’re so desperate to finish?”

“No, but—”

“Then _leave_ it. Please.”

Anakin closed his eyes and counted to ten. Obi-Wan was really going to make him do it, wasn’t he? Anakin did suppose it was only fair, given how Obi-Wan had let Anakin help him with his back, but even so. This was borderline mortifying.

“I can’t leave it,” Anakin said.

“Why ever not?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Anakin swivelled the stool around and bared his arm for Obi-Wan’s scrutiny. The right arm, the prosthetic, which was currently missing a five-inch cover plate and exhibiting exposed wiring and circuitry.

Anakin kept his eyes on Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan kept his on Anakin’s arm, opening and closing his mouth several times.

“Anakin… I—I don’t understand. What…”

Anakin huffed. “I whacked it into a durasteel bar in the explosion. The bar won. Dented the outer plating.”

“This is about vanity?” Obi-Wan was incredulous, and Anakin didn’t blame him.

“ _No_ , it’s not about vanity. I don’t care what it looks like, it’s covered almost all the time anyway.” Obi-Wan inched back slightly, and Anakin softened his tone. “The concave part was pressing on some wiring, messing up the circuits.” He kicked his feet, feeling like a youngling admitting to skipping class.

Obi-Wan sat up fully. “The function was affected?”

“Not… exactly,” Anakin said. He scratched the side of his neck and looked to the floor. “It functions fine, but it messed up part of the nerve response system. I can move it fine, it just…”

“Anakin.” The _tell me_ was silent, but Anakin heard it.

“It just hurts, alright?”

After a moment, Obi-Wan reached out and placed his hand on Anakin’s knee. Anakin slowly let go of his pride and put his own on top.

“Can I help?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin met his eyes: sincere and bright, the traces of exhaustion fading and forgotten. Concern, but no pity. Anakin wet his bottom lip and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

Obi-Wan gingerly got up from the bunk. He brushed away the arm Anakin offered to steady him, instead resting his hand on Anakin’s shoulder and pushing him to face the workbench. Anakin returned his right arm to the table top and flicked the soldering iron back on.

“What do you need me to do?” Obi-Wan asked. “I’m not much of a mechanic, but…”

“I just need an extra hand,” Anakin assured. “See that little red wire? Grab those tweezers and touch the end to that connection on the circuit. See where I’m pointing?” He gestured with the tapered tip of the soldering iron.

“I see it,” Obi-Wan said. He leaned forward to pick up the tweezers, his chest meeting Anakin’s back. Anakin couldn’t keep from fractionally pressing against him, or from feeling bereft when Obi-Wan moved aside for better access to Anakin’s arm. He cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, then focused, loose strands of hair falling to obscure his expression. Keeping very still, Anakin watched the tweezers descend toward the circuit board, then waver.

“You can’t hurt me,” Anakin said, sensing Obi-Wan’s unease and fighting to retain his patience. “It’s just gears and circuits.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You’re already in pain because of it.”

“And it can’t get any worse,” Anakin snapped. Damn. “Sorry,” he said. “Just, get on with it?”

“Will do.”

The tweezers grasped the wire, and gently touched the exposed end to the circuit. Anakin let out a breath that he suspected he’d been holding since the explosion. There were still twinges of pain, but that reconnection fixed the worst of it. He hastened to solder the wire permanently in place.

“How were you expecting to do this by yourself?” Obi-Wan wondered. “With one hand?”

“I used the force,” Anakin said. “I’d sorted most of it before you woke up.”

“I’m unsure whether to be impressed or appalled.”

“Why? Does it count as an inappropriate use of the force?” Anakin pulled the soldering iron away and flexed his metal fingers.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Obi-Wan said. “The point is that you should have asked for my help in the first place.”

Anakin said nothing. No, it hadn’t been easy, especially given that he’d already been calling on the force to block out the pain from having to rest his arm on the workbench. He’d managed, though, without regret. Obi-Wan first.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Obi-Wan told him. “Stop it.”

“Is that your phrase of the day?” Anakin teased. His smile felt weak.

“Anakin. I don’t need you to protect me.”

Anakin took the tweezers from Obi-Wan. “I know that.”

“Then—”

“I know. I do.” Anakin started to poke around at the exposed wiring, then paused. “It just—never mind.” He continued his examination.

Obi-Wan gently touched his fingertips to the back of Anakin’s metal hand. Expecting pain, Anakin was relieved to feel only light pressure. He sensed that Obi-Wan was waiting for him to speak, that this was one of those annoying things that Obi-Wan wasn’t going to let go.

Anakin stopped what he was doing and flicked the tweezers back into his palm. He stared at the wiring. “I know you don’t need me to protect you,” he said, quietly. “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel that I should. That I don’t want to.”

A gentle hand came to rest against the back of Anakin’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Its counterpart began tracing absent circles on the surface of Anakin’s prosthetic. “I know,” Obi-Wan murmured, lips suddenly close to Anakin’s ear. “I share a similar problem.”

Anakin raised his head to see Obi-Wan smiling. Tired but earnest, and fondly exasperated. Anakin rested their foreheads together and closed his eyes. The hand at his neck moved down his spine. Warm exhales tickled his upper lip. If not for the awkward angle of his right arm, he could have happily stayed that way for some time; yet it was the insistent knowledge that the position could not be comfortable for Obi-Wan that finally spurred him out of inertia. He reluctantly opened his eyes and gazed at Obi-Wan’s fine eyelashes.

“You know,” Anakin said, “I can probably finish this myself.”

“Not happening,” Obi-Wan breathed. He pulled away, wrinkling his nose as he straightened. He affixed Anakin with another familiar look. “I am aware of what you are trying to do, Anakin, and it won’t work. I refuse to go to bed without you.”

Anakin summoned a smirk. “That’s not what you said earlier.”

Obi-Wan played along, just as Anakin had hoped. For all he trusted Obi-Wan, for all he—well. He wasn’t good at being vulnerable. Neither of them were. “I’ve changed my mind,” Obi-Wan said. “I intend to have you right under my nose, where I can stop you from wandering off to create another infernal racket.”

“As if I would, _Master_.” Anakin ducked the swat that came his way and delved back into the inorganic gore of his arm.

“What’s left?” Obi-Wan asked, serious once more.

“Just a couple of loose connections, then reattaching the outer plate. I hammered out the dent earlier.”

“I’d noticed,” Obi-Wan said carefully.

Anakin winced. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He deftly shored up the remaining loose wires, then tentatively tapped his wrist on the edge of the workbench. Emboldened by the effort, he whacked it harder. Obi-Wan snorted, but the connections held firm, and the nerve pain was gone. It didn’t take much for Anakin to reattach the cover plate, Obi-Wan holding it in place far more accurately than Anakin could have done with the force.

Anakin downed tools and rubbed his thumb over the seam.

“Done?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yeah.” Anakin nodded. “Thanks.”

The warm presence at his side vanished, and Anakin heard the lower bunk creak. He made sure everything was turned off and checked the time. It hadn’t taken as long as it might have done, but it had taken a while. Despite all that Obi-Wan had said, guilt still gnawed at him. He ran an incisor under his thumbnail.

“Anakin.”

Anakin got up and slid the magnetised stool back under the workbench, braced for a sharp look or a lecture. He instead found Obi-Wan reclined on the bunk, offering him his hand.

“Come to bed?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin hesitated. “With your back…”

“It’s only bruised.” At Anakin’s glare, he amended, “Badly bruised. Nothing that painkillers and rest won’t fix.” He pointedly wiggled his outstretched fingers when Anakin continued to dither.

“Alright,” Anakin said. He sat down on the edge of the bunk, mattress dipping beneath him, and pulled off his boots. Obi-Wan sighed when he kicked them haphazardly into a corner, but didn’t berate him for it. Anakin took care not to jostle Obi-Wan as he lay down beside him. Obi-Wan pulled him closer. Lazily, Anakin flicked a finger and dimmed the lights.

“Now _that_ ,” Obi-Wan said, “is an inappropriate use of the force.”

“Lecture me about it tomorrow,” Anakin muttered into his clavicle.


End file.
